And when control slips, the last person she expects to rely on is the man assigned to stand between her and whatever comes next.
Former Army Ranger Noah Bennett has protected powerful people before.
He’s never protected someone who refuses to be guarded.
Their story begins inOnly the Lucky.
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Bonus Epilogue
Adrien
One Year Later
The drive into Paris feels different.Maybe because I’m seeing the city through her eyes—the glass reflections of the Seine, the slow swirl of headlights around Place Vendôme, the promise of tonight waiting in the coming hour.
The Sanctuary glows against the skyline, a cathedral of light and shadow.Last week was the grand re-opening, and we greeted investors and members.Tonight isn’t about ownership or appearances—it’s about what I’ve wanted since the moment I asked her to marry me.
I’ve reserved the evening for the woman beside me, the woman who reigns over my thoughts, for the steady awareness of her body in my orbit, and the certainty that I’m already undone long before we step inside.When the car slows outside of The Sanctuary, she narrows her knowing eyes.“You’ve planned something.”
“Opening night was chaotic.Performative.Tonight is for you.”
“For us,” she corrects with a tilt of her soft, plush lips.
As I come around the car, waving off Jacques, letting him know I’ll open my wife’s door, I scan the entrance, the steady flames housed in the gas lamps, and give a curt nod to the man waiting to let us in.
Tonight, it’s only us.Perks of ownership.
When I open her door, her smile curves as I offer my hand.“My lady.”
We enter The Sanctuary with her hand in mine, and I lead her straight to the elevator.
The city sprawls beneath us, lights glittering on the water as the glass elevator stops.She’s quiet.There are no questions, but perhaps she too shares the undercurrent of anticipation.
The doors open to silence.
Amber light pools in alcoves, the music reduced to a low pulse you feel more than hear.No members thread through the corridors.There’s no carefully orchestrated temptation.Just a corridor of suites, emptied of everyone but us.
She pauses, alert as ever, taking it all in.
“Strange,” she says.“How different it feels without the members.”
I move beside her.“That’s the point.”
She glances at me, one eyebrow lifting.“Closing the entire club?Staffing it for just us two.That’s excessive even for you.”
“I’m aware.”I catch her hand, turning her toward me.“But I wanted you to see it this way.Not as my wife under scrutiny.”I pause.“As my wife.In a space that belongs to us.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.“Then show me what that means.”
At the door to the private suite, I stop.
She meets my eyes, and there’s a question there—not about permission, but about intention.
“Say the word and we walk away,” I tell her.“Nothing about this matters unless it’s what you want.”
“I know.”Her hand lifts to my chest.“But I want to see it.Not just the renovation—I’ve had a tour.I want the experience you’ve planned.”
